Starting Now (Blossom Street #9)(35)

He’d been a bit bold about tracking her down. And Sharon already seemed to think there was something romantic happening between them. Her nurse friend had probably been eager to share the information.

“Do you regret your divorce?” he asked.

Libby debated how best to answer that. “What I regret was that I didn’t try harder to save the marriage. We were both so eager to give up on each other. Joe wanted a family and I felt we should wait. Then seeing his baby today …” She paused as her throat started to tighten, and she found she couldn’t complete the sentence.

“We all have regrets, Libby. I have my share, too. I let someone I loved go; a woman I’d hoped to spend the rest of my life with. I just stood back and let her walk away.”

Libby looked up, amazed that he was willing to share something so personal with her.

“What happened today was clearly painful,” he continued, “but you seem like you’re willing to own your part in what caused the divorce. Don’t make the mistake of beating yourself up, especially now. You don’t have anything to feel guilty about.”

“You didn’t have regrets after your breakup?”

He laughed softly. “Oh, I had plenty. It took a while for me to realize that I had lost perspective. I assumed the hospital would fail to function if I wasn’t there to overlook every detail.”

“I’ve heard Sharon say that several of the physicians on staff have pretty big egos.”

“It happens,” he agreed, and smiled.

Libby returned it with a wobbly smile of her own.

He released her hand and straightened his posture. “Have you ever been sailing?” he asked out of the blue.

Libby remembered the picture on Hershel’s credenza—the one of him on the sailboat—and the feeling she’d had each time she caught a glimpse of it—that sensation of being free and enjoying life. “No, but I would like to someday.”

He stood. “No time like the present.”

“Now?” She nervously clenched her hands. She had no experience with boats, let alone boating. After the trauma of the afternoon, staying indoors and licking her wounds appealed to her more.

“Why not?” Phillip asked.

Nibbling on her lower lip, Libby held his gaze, uncertain but tempted.

Reading her indecision, he added, “When I need to think things through, I head for the marina. Being on the water helps clear my head and relaxes me.”

That was incentive enough, or it should have been. “I’m not sure I should. I’ve never sailed before and …”

“You’ll feel better with the sun on your face and the wind at your back, while you’re gliding through the water.”

He made it sound so magical. Libby felt a smile coming. Really, what did she have to lose at this point? Nothing about the way she’d been living her life seemed to be working. Maybe it was time to stop listening to her first impulses. The decision made, she looked up and met his gaze. “Okay, let’s do it.”

An hour later they were on Lake Washington aboard his twenty-four-foot sloop. When they’d first arrived at the marina, Phillip had gotten busy bringing out the sails, tying them up to the mast, and getting everything ready to take them onto the lake. He moved gracefully, comfortably, about the boat.

Once they’d motored out of the marina, he set the course and raised the sails. Within moments the main sail and the jib filled with wind as the Challenger 7.4 sliced effortlessly through the dark green water.

Phillip had been right. The sun felt good on Libby’s face, and as the wind whipped about her it seemed to take with it the pain and regrets of that afternoon. She understood now what Phillip had meant when he said he went sailing when he needed to think something through. Sailing had a calming effect on her, too.

Phillip seemed completely at ease at the helm. He was confident and sure of himself. The wind ruffled his dark hair, blowing it back from his face. He looked boyish and happy; Libby found it difficult not to stare at him. When he caught her watching him, he grinned. It hardly seemed possible that just that morning she’d thought of him as brusque and unpleasant. The transformation was amazing.

“What do you think?” he asked.

She didn’t know what to say. “It’s everything I thought it must be. I can’t wait to tell Hershel.”

A frown briefly marked his brow. “Who’s Hershel?”

She didn’t need to stop and think. “A … friend,” Libby said, although she had only recently come to think of him as one. “Hershel has a picture of his sailboat on his credenza and I’d always wondered why he loved it so. Now I know.”

The lake had plenty of water traffic, sailboats galore, and motor-boats, too, their engines roaring as they sped past.

A section of Lake Washington had been cordoned off for swimming, and the cheers and shouts of youngsters taking advantage of the sunshine rang through the late afternoon. Even with all the busyness of the lake, Libby felt a strange sense of intimacy with Phillip. In the close confines of the boat, her feelings were stronger than ever. While there was sound all around them, the sailboat was surprisingly quiet, making conversation easy. She wondered if Phillip felt the connection, too, and assumed he must, although neither of them spoke of it.

Filling the silence, he talked about the sailing classes he’d taken and his search for just the right boat before he decided on the Challenger 7.4, which he kept docked at the marina.